Resurrection Day by Glenn Meade Read Free Book Online Page B

in their childhood was too abruptly gone. In Daniel's case, he was long out of the baby stage. At night, the little boy still wore a diaper, but even that habit was coming to an end, and he was starting to insist that he shouldn't have to wear one. Collins turned down the heat on the pan, poured himself a cup of hot coffee, added a spoonful of sugar, then swallowed a mouthful. He could hear Nikki's voice out in the living room, busy on the phone, making the call she said she needed to make, but he couldn't hear the conversation. She'd arrived at his apartment ten minutes ago, looking cheerful. No matter what troubles afflicted her, or others, Nikki always tried to be upbeat. That was her way. It was part of what attracted him to her when he met her eight months ago. He remembered their second outing together, dinner at Old Ebbitt's Grill, when he had got to know her a little better, and she had told him of the funny incident from when Daniel was two, the first time her son had really seen her completely naked.
    He had surprised her in the shower, pulled back the curtain, and on seeing the dark V patch between her legs, he'd exclaimed innocently, 'What's that thing, Mommy?'
    'Never you mind. What are you doing in here, Daniel? Come on, close the curtain, that's a good boy, and let Mommy finish in the shower. We've got to get to the store.'
    And Daniel pointed to the V again. 'Are you taking that with you, Mommy?'
    Nikki had told him the story in that earthy way of hers that had made him crack up with laughter. He always felt good knowing she and Daniel were here. In the last two years he had been tossed through some rough seas, but with Nikki's help and friendship had come a stable sense of reality. And for company he also had the added distraction of a three-year-old soon to be four — endlessly active and inquisitive boy. Even the simple practicality of feeding Daniel his breakfast somehow gave him much-appreciated comfort.
    The apartment in Georgetown was one-bed, with a tiny living room, a kitchenette and a bathroom the size of a closet. After he'd sold the house in Alexandria, Collins had moved here, hoping to make a fresh start, unable to live in the house any more because it haunted him, had such consecrated memories, but sometimes he felt he hadn't made any kind of start at all. He was forever trapped in his past, bound by its chains. The dreams still came. The memories still haunted. No matter what he did to try to forget, they still came back. And he knew why. They were all he had. All he had to remember the sacredness of their lives together, the life he had shared and lost with his wife and son. Strong sunlight poured into the kitchen, which was close to a mess as always. Cooking was not one of Collins's favourite pastimes, not something he excelled at, but he did it out of sheer necessity. For a long time after Annie's death, even eating had been difficult. He'd had a double loss to deal with, and he'd rarely cooked, just ate fast food when he felt hungry, which wasn't very often. He'd shed thirty pounds and hadn't put them back on. But now, cooking occasionally for Daniel and Nikki had become, at least, a small pleasure. The toast popped. He finished his coffee, whisked the scrambled egg some more, and when it was done he spooned it onto a plate and buttered some toast and cut off the crusts. Important that, otherwise Daniel bitched like hell. 'There you go, cowboy.'
    'You not having a egg, Jack?'
    'Not this morning, Daniel.'
    'Why?'
    'Too many eggs are bad for you. And I try not to eat too many.'
    'Oh.' Daniel frowned, tried to fathom that one out, his face crinkled with concentrated puzzlement, before he obviously decided that the intensity of thought wasn't worth the effort, relaxed and went back to his food.
    Collins heard a tiny laugh and looked round. Nikki was leaning against the door frame, her arms folded. Her hair was tied back, emphasising her oval face, a smile lingering on her lips. She wore a pale